


Mama, Just Killed a Man

by Asellas



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Channeling my inner guilt onto Jesse, Established Relationship, Gen, I can't help but tease McCree it's too much fun, I'll go back to my trashcan, I'm Sorry, Jesse is a terrible son, M/M, Ma McCree loves him anyways, Why do I Write This Shit, unbeta'ed/unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7180460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asellas/pseuds/Asellas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>McCree felt the ambush seconds before it happened. He shouted a quick warning, ducking into a doorway as he drew Peacekeeper and thumbed the hammer back. He caught a couple of bandits as they emerged from an alley, dispatching them with a bullet to the head each. He was sighting down a third when his communicator went off. He hits the button to receive the call on his earpiece, ready to update Winston on their situation.</i><br/>“McCree here, we’re under attack,” he yells, shooting the bandit he’d found a few moments earlier. He ducks back behind the wall to reload when a voice, clearly not the one he was expecting, crackled in his ear.<br/>“Jesse? Jesse is that you,” asks an older woman over the communicator.<br/>“Ma?! How in the hell did you get this number,” McCree stops in his tracks, disbelief that his mother, of all people, was calling him. In the middle of a firefight.
</p>
<p>Or, one does not simply ignore Ma McCree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask, I don't know why I thought this up or thought it a good idea to write but I couldn't help it the idea was just too funny (to me).

Hanzo normally enjoyed escort missions. The ability to hang back from the entire group so he could pick the best vantage point from which to find their enemies was his strong suit, and the red desert of Route 66 with its buttes and mesa made it a veritable heaven for a snipers nest. The heat also complimented him, the canyon walls radiating warmth as he hides in the shadows. His only complaint about it was the sun that, without the lotion provided from Doctor Zeigler, would bake him into a lobster. The first time it’d happened McCree, Hana, and Lucio made fun of him for weeks. Now, though, he is protected by 50 SPFs and determined not to sunburn.

If only sunburn was their only worry.

Everything had been going fine to start with. There had been a little resistance, a few nameless drifters hoping to snatch the payload while they weren’t paying too much attention that quickly learned their lesson. Hanzo had caught McCree miming shooting two guns at him, going as far to blow a kiss in his direction, making the ex-assassin roll his eyes. The group had caught the small interaction between them, laughing and teasing McCree in good humor. Hanzo had kept pace with them, ranging ahead to check for potential threats on occasion before finding a closer perch to watch the payload from. They’d just made it through a tunnel when it seemed all hell had broken loose.

Hanzo was forced from his nest by an incoming rocket, and he could see a barrage of them zipping towards the group. Thankfully they had noticed the incoming rockets and Reinhardt had his shield ready, but it seemed they were just a smokescreen for the bandits that were hiding in the seemingly deserted building around them. He headed toward the fray, hoping to stay behind the shield to pick off anyone unfortunate enough to stand still long enough for Hanzo to lock sights on them. Worry for McCree clenched his gut as he heard a flashbang go off, followed by a curse and rapid firing of Peacekeeper. McCree, it seemed, was in trouble, and Hanzo refused to let him face it alone.

And McCree, well, McCree was in bigger trouble that they could know.

McCree felt the ambush seconds before it happened. He shouted a quick warning, ducking into a doorway as he drew Peacekeeper and thumbed the hammer back. He caught a couple of bandits as they emerged from an alley, dispatching them with a bullet to the head each. He was sighting down a third when his communicator went off. He hits the button to receive the call on his earpiece, ready to update Winston on their situation.

“McCree here, we’re under attack,” he yells, shooting the bandit he’d found a few moments earlier. He ducks back behind the wall to reload when a voice, clearly not the one he was expecting, crackled in his ear.

“Jesse? Jesse is that you,” asks an older woman over the communicator.

“Ma?! How in the hell did you get this number,” McCree stops in his tracks, disbelief that his mother, of all people, was calling him. In the middle of a firefight.

“How are you dear,” the lady asks, voice sweet and seemingly oblivious to the gunfire and explosions in the background.

“Ma, this ain’t the time to chat, I’ll call you back later,” McCree yells at her, spiting a curse as a bullet grazes the flesh above his prosthetic arm.

“Jesse Isaiah McCree, you had better not hang up on me! It’s been _months_ since you’ve last called and _years_ since you visited. The very least you could do for your poor old mother is talk to her,” she scolds, and McCree thumps his head back against the wall. He was well and truly stuck this time. If he hung up on her, Ma McCree would make him rue the day he was born.

“I’m sorry ma, I’ve been busy,” he tells her, dancing out from the doorway to unload the full chamber of bullets into a knot of bandits hoping to snipe them from the second floor of the building across the way. He catches a glimpse of two others falling down, blue-fletched arrows jutting out from a head and chest. Seemed Hanzo had deigned to join the rest of them in the fight.

“Well, I’m sure you can figure out how to make room in your schedule to talk to your mother. Will you at least come home for Christmas?”

“Ma, I’m not sure if-“

“Do you have a girlfriend? What about that cute lil blond girl, what was her name..”

“Ma, please-“

“Or was it that red head? With the braids? She was just cute as a button!”

“No, Ma, this isn’t-“

“Wait, is it a boyfriend this time?’

“MA!”

“Oh don’t you worry, you know we won’t judge you for it, if that’s what you like. Why, Linda down the street has a daughter…”

“Ma, this is really a bad time for chit-chat!” McCree tosses a flashbang inside a building, letting it go off before ducking in and gunning down the bandit who was attempting to hide inside.

“You could bring him to visit, your sisters would love to meet him! What’s he like, is he handsome?”

“Ma, I don’t-“

“You always did go for the lookers, now, didn’t you? But, oh, you should see the new barn we had raised. Even hired on a few of them omnics, they’re such lovely fellas you know? So polite, and the goats love them.”

“MA-“

“Well I think I hear Mister Thomas calling so I’ll let you run, dear. You better come visit me soon, ya hear? Love you honey, have a nice day!”

“Love you too, Ma,” McCree sighs, glad when the connection finally clicks closed. A bandit running away from Reinhardt’s hammer nearly bowls him over, and he halfheartedly shoots the man in the chest. McCree squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, willing the irritation away. He loved his mother, dearly, but she could be so overbearing at times. And when Ma McCree wasn’t happy, ain’t nobody was happy. He took a calming breath and went to join the group, the bandits having all be killed, incapacitated, or run off by this point. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the whole group gathered around the payload, watching him with curious looks and grins.

“So,” Hanzo starts, giving McCree an appraising look, “Isaiah, is it?”

McCree gives his partner a confused look, wondering what he was going on about when Winston’s voice crackles over their communicators.

“You do know that we can all hear this channel, right,” the gorilla asks, and suddenly McCree understood the looks. He groans and slumps against the nearest wall, sliding down and covering his face with his serape. The ground could swallow him up whole now, and he’d be grateful for it.

“Your mother is a most lively lady,” booms Reinhardt, making Lucio laugh.

“Have you really not seen or spoken to her in so long? Family should be cherished, Jesse,” chides Mei, hands on her hips and giving McCree a disapproving look. Fareeha nods and murmurs her assent as she reloads her rocket launcher.

“Please kill me now,” McCree begs Hanzo, making the shorter man huff a quiet laugh.

“Come now,” Hanzo tells the group, walking over to the payload and sitting on top of it. “We have a mission to finish. _Then_ we can embarrass our cowboy to our hearts content.”

McCree glared at Hanzo and plotted a very painful, and equally embarrassing, death for him. If only he didn’t love the damn man so much…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest, sincerest thanks to each and every person who has read this, given kudos, and commented. It still gives me a crazy amount of happiness to see that someone has enjoyed something I've made, and I cannot thank you all enough. I'm sorry if I haven't replied to every comment, I'm a terrible person and will try better I promise :>

Jesse McCree would never believe it if he was told that the quiet chirping of the communicator in his ear would evoke a quick stab of fear in his gut. He would have laughed at whoever told him this, long and hard. Now, though, he’d wring their neck for not telling him why.

He could only pray there were more bandits out to steal the payload they were escorting. He wanted, desperately, to shoot someone, because he was not allowed to shoot his teammates. Hanzo he could deal with (in private, always in private…), but the smirks and questions and the giggling from everyone else was nearly unbearable. So Jesse stomped ahead, scouting for enemies, imagining all the things he could do to get back at everyone. Maybe hide Hana stash of doritos and mountain dew, replace all the coffee with decaf, break the thermostat to Mei’s lab to only blow hot air…

Goddamn, he needed a drink. He kicked an errant clump of sagebrush down a deserted alley, cursing under his breath. Laugh at Jesse, would they? He’ll show them…

The communicator chirps quietly, making his heart skip a beat and he nearly shoots a hole through an empty rain barrel.

“Alright, the dropship has landed and is awaiting the cargo at the pickup site, about eight hundred meters from your current position,” Winston informs their group, and Jesse lets out a quiet breath in relief.

“Affirmative,” replies Reinhardt, the volume of his voice making Jesse wince. Did the giant really have to shout everything he said? Lucio chimes in, “Everything is A-OK on our end, we’ll speed boost to the finish line!”

“It seems that the one group we encountered was the only resistance they had to offer,” Pharah comments, and Jesse could only hope another group crops up to prove her wrong.

Unfortunately, Pharah was correct. The last stretch took nearly two hours to navigate, Reinhardt not wanting to push too quickly in case they were ambushed again, and it left Jesse feeling tired and wrung out from stress. As the group was securing the cargo into the drop ship he wandered into the abandoned saloon, sifting through the debris of old bottles and broken furniture, hoping to maybe find a drink that hadn’t already been pilfered or destroyed. His search is interrupted by the chirp in his ear, which he answers distractedly.

“McCree here.” He expects Winston to let him know the dropship is ready to leave, but is seems the theme for this godforsaken mission is disappointment.

“Jesse, darlin’, how are you,” his mother asks, and McCree stifles a groan.

“Hi, Ma. I’m doing alright, thanks for askin’,” he gives up trying to avoid her, figuring if he talks to her she’ll leave him alone. Then he can ask Winston to change his communicator number or something.

“Sounded like you were in a little bit of a pinch earlier, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, Ma, everything’s peachy. Just work, you know how it is,” he sighs, stuffing a cigarillo between his lips and lighting it.

“Oh, well, I was, I was just worried about you.” Her voice wavers just slightly, and he could see in his mind’s eye the sad smile she’d have, the one she always used when things were bad but she didn’t want anyone to catch on. Guilt is a lead weight in his stomach and he sinks into the nearest chair, bracing his forearms on the rough tabletop.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you,” he tells her quietly, unsure what to really even say. The conversation never ends well when she’s sad.

“It’s been so lonely around here, you know? Your sisters are all so busy and… well, you’re busy too, I suppose. It’s just, it’s been a long while since you visited,” she insists. Jesse bites back a sigh and puffs on the cigarillo. To be honest, he’s always been a bit worried about visiting, thanks to the bounty on his head and the mile-long criminal record following him. He’d be damned if he put his Ma in a tight spot with the law again. His brain rapidly scrambles for some other excuse, trying to find something believable.

“Ma, look, I can’t. There’s too much work-“

“Actually,” Winston chimes in, unhelpfully, “We’re clear of missions for the next two weeks.”

“Ok, well, yeah, but… it’s pretty far away,” McCree fumbles, mind still racing for viable excuses.

“Just an hour away by carrier actually,” Tracer replies. McCree wonders if the communicators had a private setting. He debates throwing his into a trashcan at this point. And then setting said trashcan on fire.

“Wait, how did you find her address,” McCree wonders out loud, and Tracer is more than happy to oblige him.

“Oh! Well we just traced her call back to its origin point. Pretty nifty right?”

“NO, ugh don’t ya’ll understand privacy rules or something?” McCree takes off his hat and lets his forehead hit the tabletop.

“You could even bring your friends with you, the more the merrier I always say,” Ma McCree says, making Jesse hit his head harder on the table. There’s a hint of hope in her voice, making the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach even worse.

“You are most generous madam! We would be honored to pay you a visit,” booms Reinhardt, his voice rattling the windows. Jesse prepares to cut this all short, as it has gotten way out of hand by this point, but when he looks up he finds the entire team crowded into the saloon and he wilts under the collective weight of their disapproving stares.

“Alright, fine, fine,” he concedes, throwing his hands up in surrender. “We’ll all come for a visit I suppose.”

“Wonderful! I’ll just pop on down to the store for some things so I can cook a proper dinner. What time should I be expectin’ ya’ll?” Ma McCree’s voice is overjoyed, and Jesse glares at his teammates. He waves at them to go ahead and answer, hell they started it they can plan it out too. He was so done at this point.

“We’ll have everything here wrapped up in about an hour, plus another for transportation, so give us two hours,” Winston tells her, typing on a datapad. Jesse slinks off, resuming his search for some hidden cache of booze somewhere in this godforsaken hole of a town. Liquid courage was a needed must now.

 He could hear Lucio and Hana cheer and loudly proclaim “ROADTRIP!” in unison, followed by a bunch of giggling and laughter.

Jesse isn’t so sure he was going to make it through this unscathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is very... very late. I almost gave up on it, to be honest.  
> So, well, I've got this chapter done, and am working on the next one. Sorry this one is so cliffhanger-y, but I wanted to post someone to show hey, I'm alive and actually going to be working on this fic more!
> 
> As always, I'm [asalade](http://asalade.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you'd like to drop by


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Play of the Game: Annabelle 'Ma' McCree  
> -eliminated Jesse McCree-  
> -Team Kill-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up getting a bit... sad? ish? at part, but I tried to balance it out at the end (you'll see!). I did a quick search (aka I read a wikipedia article) on some of the common foods in Oklahoma, and am glad to find that it's very similar to what I grew up with in Mississippi. Writing this made me SO FUCKING nostalgic for home cooked food, you have no idea.

Jesse hated Oklahoma.

There were many reasons why he’d left the place to begin with, chief among them was the boredom. For as far as the eye could see it tended to be fields, fields, more fields, a stray road, and, oh, look, more fields. It lacked the excitement and adventure he always yearned for, and so soon as he had figured a way he booked it out of there and never looked back.

However, he would never, ever, get caught admitting he liked seeing it from thirty thousand feet in the air. The ground below looked like a patchwork quilt with all the different crops growing and the sparse roads neatly dissecting them into squares. And the large round patches a riot of color from the irrigation systems giving the land a bit more interesting of a view. So high up many of the state’s flaws are either invisible or can’t reach him, and it lets him gaze upon it with something akin to fondness.

Jesse catches Hanzo watching him, face a mask of stern concentration as always, and gives the archer a halfhearted grin. Anxiety is beginning to wear him thin, and honestly he just wants to get the whole debacle over and done with. Hanzo, Christ the man must be able to read minds or something, quirks an eyebrow at him questioningly, to which Jesse sighs and shrugs. He did not want to get into this can of worms right now. Or ever.

“This is your captain speaking!” Tracer’s voice crackles over the coms. “We’ll be landing in about ten minutes so make sure you’re all strapped down and ready!” There’s a small bustle of activity as belongings are stashed into storage compartments and everyone straps into their seats. A few minutes later after some bumps and jostling they land on the lawn of a large, white farmhouse. The air of excitement grows in the carrier, making Jesse feel even queasier. They all unstrap and are ready to jump out, save for Jesse. He wants to just stay here and sulk.

Reinhardt does not give him that option. The old man practically picks him up and all but throws him out the open carrier door with a cheerful “After you!” yelled after him. Jesse mutters some choice curses as he picks himself up and dusts off his clothes before turning to confront the older woman waiting a few feet away.

Annabelle McCree was of a middle height with a strong, almost stocky physique from decades of working on farms and ranches. Her hair was still thick and brown, though well streaked with gray at this point, and cut short to keep out of the way. She had the dark tanned skin of someone who spent hours a day out in the sun, with some wrinkles finally showing on her face. Her smile made the crow’s feet at the edges of her eyes stand out, and Jesse can’t hide the sheepish grin he gives her in return.

“Hey, Ma, good ta see you,” he mumbles, and just like that the quiet spell is broken and she pulls him into a hug.

“Jesse! Darlin’ it’s so good to see you again!” He hopes she doesn’t start crying when she tightens her hold, and when she pulls back there’s a telltale wetness to her eyes.

“Now don’t go getting’ all teary-eyed on me now,” Jesse quickly tells her, to which she just laughs and gives her eyes a quick swipe with a hand.

“Oh, it’s just been so long since you’ve been back here. Now, how about you introduce me to your friends,” Annabelle asks, and he’s more than happy to oblige her. Jesse turns to find the crew all gathered in front of the carrier, gives them a sheepish grin.

“Well, I know you’ve seen a few of them from the news before,” Jesse starts, nodding at Tracer, Reinhardt, and Winston. He goes over everyone else pretty quickly, leaving them to introduce themselves properly, hoping Annabelle corners each and every one and talk their heads off as she usually does.

(It brings back a quick memory of one the long, awkward dinner when his older sister Margie had brought her first boyfriend over for the first time. Annabelle had near about talked the boy’s head off, barely letting him answer before starting another question or story, all with the nicest look on her face that the McCree family all knew meant she would expose any kind of flaw or weakness in him and exploit them to the greatest of her ability. Jesse put the topper on the cake when he casually greeted him with a shotgun when he came to pick Margie up for prom a few weeks later.)

When Jesse introduces Hana, Ma lets out a quiet “Oh, isn’t she a cutie!”, then whispers in Jesse’s ear.

“Is that your girlfriend? Isn’t she kinda young though?” Jesse sputters for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“No, Ma, she’s not. Just… Just let me finish, alright,” he whispers back fiercely, rolling his eyes as she giggles and motions him to go on. He finishes introducing Mei and Lucio who, after cheerful hellos, wander off with the rest of the group toward the farmhouse, leaving Hanzo for last.

“And this,” Jesse says, moving to stand behind Hanzo and rest his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders, “Is Hanzo Shimada. My boyfriend.”

Annabelle’s eyes widen slightly before she beams at them, clasping her hands in front of her chest in delight. Hanzo steps forward and bows deeply, intentionally letting one end of his Storm Bow smack Jesse across the head with the movement.

“It is an honor to meet you,” Hanzo intones, straightening up just as Annabelle comes forward and clasps him in a tight hug. He goes stiff, still not yet used to such close physical contact.

“It is absolutely wonderful to meet you! And no need to be so formal, we’re all like family here. Now let’s get inside and get you all something to eat, I’m sure you’re famished,” Annabelle chatters, grabbing Jesse by an arm and pulling the two men after her as she heads back to the house.

 

 

The house is exactly as Jesse remembers it. Framed photos line the walls, everything from the rugs to the furniture sparkling clean. Jesse can’t help but absently wonder if Ma has anyone come in to help with that, knowing how much she hated even the smallest messes. She ushers everyone into the dining room, letting them know they’re free to roam the house before dashing through the back door into the kitchen to check on the food. Everyone mills about, either looking at the photos on the walls or slumping tiredly into a chair (or, in Winston’s case, a corner near the table). Despite their excitement over the impromptu trip, the exhaustion from the mission is starting to settle in. Jesse pulls out a chair to fall into himself when he hears his Ma from the kitchen.

“Jesse! Jesse come here and help me out for a minute,” she yells, and Jesse sighs.

“There’s a bathroom right down the hall to the left,” he tells everyone as he heads to the kitchen. “Might want to wash up, Ma won’t let anyone eat till they’ve cleaned up.”

The door shuts behind him and he takes a moment to breathe, struck by how everything managed to look the same as it did when he was a kid still living at here. He has to wonder if the white and red checkered curtains framing the window over the large sink are the same, or has Ma replaced them over the years but kept the same pattern and colors. An ache settles in his chest, unwanted and uninvited, something he can only assume is years of homesickness finally catching up with him. Jesse wanders over to the sink, scrubbing his hands with soap that he thinks smells familiar, but not sure if it’s just his memory is trying to fill in lost little pieces with what’s now around him.

“Here, now, stir that pot while I get this going.” Annabelle nods at the large pot at the back of the stove, her hands coated in a mess of flour as she mixes up some eggs in a bowl. Jesse does as he’s told, picking up the long-handled wooden spoon from its trivet and lifting the lid off. Steam billows up and he inhales the hearty scent of black eyed peas and ham hocks. He can’t help smiling as he stirs the pot gently, not wanting to mash the peas up, tapping the spoon on the side of the pot before replacing the lid. He does the same for the other pot on the back burner, which holds a mess of yellow squash cooking down gently with onions and bacon. He leans down to peer into the oven, grinning when he finds two cast iron skillets of cornbread.

“Those should be right about done by now,” Ma tells Jesse, noticing how he’s looking them over. “Go ahead and take ‘em out, flip ‘em onto a plate so we can cut ‘em.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jesse pulls out a couple of plates from one of the cabinets, pausing a moment when he noticed he’d picked the right one without thinking, his body remembering things almost better than his mind has. The oven mitts are still in the drawer next to the oven, and he grabs one for his right hand.

“So, Jesse,” Ma begins, sounding a bit embarrassed for some reason as she starts frying the steaks she was breading. “Now, I’m not trying to be rude or anything, but, well, what does the gorilla eat?”

“Winston? Well, I reckon he’ll eat anything you serve him,” Jesse replies, setting the first plate with the cornbread on it on the counter. He grabs the second skillet from the oven, closing the door before grabbing the second plate and inverting the skillet over it, the cornbread sliding out perfectly from the seasoned cast iron. He stacks the skillets together a trivet on the back of the counter near the stove, where he’s seen Ma do the same countless times before as a child.

“Oh, that’s good,” she sighs in relief, then gives him a sheepish look. “I’m all out of bananas, and didn’t think to get any from the store earlier.”

“Ma, just treat him like a regular person and you’ll be fine,” Jesse says, stifling a chuckle at the thought of Ma serving all this nice food to everyone and just giving Winston bananas.

“Well, this’ll be done in a few minutes, so why don’t you go make sure everyone’s cleaned up and get the table set.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jesse tells her, grabbing another stack of plates and heading back to the dining room. He finds it empty, a feeling of unease beginning to thread its way through him at the idea of where everyone was now. He abandons the plates on the table to go look for them, hoping they haven’t found anything too embarrassing about him. God knows his mother loved keeping every little photo and knickknack from his childhood, there was no telling what they could find.

His fears are mostly unfounded as he finds the most of them looking at the pictures along the walls, Reinhardt looking through one of the windows at the farm.

“It’s very nice around here, quiet, peaceful.” His voice is softer, actually at a regular volume instead of his usual yelling. Jesse wonders if it’s due to being respectful of another’s home or if his armor makes him think he needs to be louder to be heard. Either way, he doesn’t press the issue, instead smiles fondly out the window.

“Yeah, that it is,” Jesse agrees, then claps Reinhardt on the shoulder. “Ma reckons the food’ll be ready soon, help me round everyone up wouldja?”

“Of course!” Reinhardt immediately perks up at the mention of food. “Whatever it is, it smells amazing, I cannot wait to eat.”

Jesse leaves Reinhardt to gather everyone up, finally giving in to one curiosity that he’d tried to keep tucked away at the back of his mind since they’d landed. His feet still remember the way, down the hallway, up the stairs, ending at the third door down the hall. He’s not surprised to see that Hanzo had beat him here, unsure if he should be annoyed at the invasion of privacy or smug in the fact he knows Hanzo well enough to assume he’d take the first chance he got to explore Jesse’s childhood bedroom. He does find it odd, though, that Hanzo stands in the open doorway, looking about curiously but has not yet stepped over the threshold. Jesse steps up behind him, arms sliding around Hanzo’s waist as he lets his chin rest on the top of Hanzo’s head.

“Howdy there, partner,” he murmurs, enjoying the way Hanzo shudders lightly at his touch. Hanzo huffs lightly in response and turns to look up at Jesse, giving him a quizzical look. Jesse keeps his eyes straight ahead, gaze flitting over his old bedroom. It seemed Ma hadn’t done a thing to it, the old posters still tacked to the wall, toy cowboy figurines lining one of the shelves of a bookcase. Nostalgia hits him hard and its suddenly a little harder to breathe. He steps back and gives Hanzo a grin, one he hopes looks convincing.

“Food’s about done, let’s get downstairs before Reinhardt breaks something. I’ll give you the grand tour later, how about?” Hanzo gives him a critical look before nodding, falling into step behind Jesse as they make their way back to the dining room.

“There you two are! We were about to go looking for you,” Tracer greets them as they enter, waving a handful of forks and napkins at them. It seemed that Annabelle had roped the others into finishing Jesse’s job of setting the table; it was now lines with plates and glasses, serving dishes of steaming hot food all laid out in the middle ready to be passed around. Annabelle emerges from the kitchen with a large platter, setting it in the last open space in the middle as Tracer zipped around setting the last of the silverware.

“Alright that should be about everything. Everyone sit down and tuck in while it’s still hot,” Annabelle announces, waiting till everyone had taken a seat before sitting to Jesse’s right.

“Country fried steak, your favorite,” she beams at Jesse, who is somewhat surprised she remembers these things. Jesse has to wonder if anyone beside himself had ever had a big, country dinner like this before, but the worry that they wouldn’t care for the simple food was quickly dispelled.

“Mmf’s wunnerful,” Hana says around a mouth full of steak, mashed potatoes and gravy.

“Ja, es ist wunderbar! You are an exemplary chef, madam,” Reinhardt shouts, almost at his typical volume. A chorus of compliments from the others follows suit, leaving Annabelle blushing yet unable to stop beaming at the praise.

“Hey, I thought you didn’t really eat vegetables. Just Doritos and Dew for the D.Va,” Lucio pokes at Hana as she shovels fried okra into her mouth.

“Doesn’t count when it’s deep fried,” she replies, then after a moment amends, “Or fermented or pickled.” Lucio snorts a laugh and rolls his eyes, helping himself to more black eyed peas.

“Are most family meals like this,” Hanzo asks Jesse, gesturing at the lively atmosphere as everyone chatted while they ate. It was different from the usual group dinners at base, a different, more lighthearted undertone present here that they seemed to lack when gathered for the nightly meal.

“Yeah, pretty much. Always had lively meals, even if it was just the few of us together,” Jesse replies after chewing thoughtfully on a piece of cornbread.

“Jesse was always teasing his sisters, or they him,” Annabelle recounts, smiling quietly as she watches everyone enjoy the meal. Hanzo looks at Jesse expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. Jesse merely shrugs in response, more preoccupied with eating than wanting to recount past embarrassment.

“Later,” he promises, when the other man would not stop glaring at him. Hanzo gives him a quiet hum before returning attention to his own plate.

 

 

Jesse had never seen after dinner cleanup go so quickly, or smoothly, in his entire life. Everyone lent a hand, letting Annabelle stand back and direct where everything went. At the end, when the last dishes were being dried, Jesse slips away by himself, wandering back up to his bedroom.

He leaves the door open, standing just inside the doorway similar to how he found Hanzo earlier. The room feels like a time capsule, perfectly preserved from that day he’d skipped out from school and never come home. There’s a sad kind of feeling to the whole place, from the old western-scene sheets perfectly made on the bed to the bookcase of toys and old books and datapads stacked neatly on the shelves. He knows it’s all actually a far cry from how he actually left it, everything being too neat, too clean for thirteen-year-old Jesse to have left, but he somehow manages to trick himself into believing that this was exactly as he left it. It was a way of dealing with the guilt that his mother had come in here (often, from the lack of musty closed-up room smell and scant dust accumulated on the polished wood furniture) and straightened and cleaned up, awaiting a little boy who wouldn’t come home for many years to come.

Just as melancholy begins to descend upon him, Jesse hears a sound downstairs. A sound that strikes fear into his very soul.

_Laughter_.

He bolts from the bedroom, nearly tripping down the stairs in his haste to descend to the bottom level. He didn’t think he’d been up there long, a few minutes at least, but he’s forgotten how quick, and _sneaky_ , his mother could be. Jesse barrels into the living room, finding everyone huddled on or around the large plush couch, photo albums arrayed across the coffee table and the book of recorded family videos out. On the large flat screen monitor hung on the wall a video plays: a chubby, snaggle-toothed Jesse totters about in a chicken costume, chasing after a girl in a school play wailing ‘Kimberwy, you forgot your fwour!” across across a stage before a curtain drops. Someone notices Jesse’s entrance and the video is paused as all the children line up to take a bow, little Jesse standing tall and proud in his chicken costume.

_So this is how I die,_ Jesse thinks, his face going so red he’s sure he matches his serape as everyone’s attention snaps onto him.

“Jesse! I found the old videos of your school plays,” Ma says, her smile seemingly innocent to anyone who didn’t know her well. Jesse knew this was one form of payback for all the years of worry.

“Ma, please, don’t-“

“Oh, here’s the one from your sixth birthday! Remember that one? You got so mad at Margie that you tried to pull on her hair but missed and fell face-first into your cake. You cried for days, poor thing!”

“Ma, Ma leave me some dignity at least, please,” Jesse begs, the aforementioned video coming to life as Annabelle hits the remote. Everyone watches, rapt, as a cowboy-attired Jesse chases his older sister for some perceived slight. Thinking he had managed to sneak up behind her he climbs onto a chair, reaching over for a handful of her long brown curls but she dashes off at the last instant, leaving Jesse tottering and trying to catch his balance. He fails and falls straight onto the tabletop, his fall cushioned by his birthday cake. Everyone oohs and aws as the little boy wails, crying that his sister ruined his birthday as everyone around him try to calm him down without laughing at the hilarity of the situation. His Overwatch comrades, however, have no qualms breaking out into guffaws of laughter at his plight. He could even pick out ( _especially_ pick out) Hanzo’s quiet chuckle.

It was all too much to bear. He makes his escape back out of the room, heading for the back porch to smoke another cigarillo. Just as he’s rounded a corner he could hear Hana yell after him: “Oh no, he’s flown the coop!”.

He was going to wring her little Dorito Gremlin neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get around to introducing more of the McCree family, don't you guys worry! Also, thinking up horribly embarrassing things to happen to poor lil Jesse McCree is fun, but also really hard. I took the play idea from something that my older brother did when he was little (how the hell do I remember this shit, goddamn), and made the other one up. If anyone has any good suggestions for other embarrassing Jesse memories, let me know!
> 
> Well, how about that, TWO chapters in one day! After... fuckin months of inactivity? Hahaha... damn. Updates might not be quite this quick in the future, but I'll definitely keep working on it!
> 
> Dorito Gremlin Gamertrash D.Va is best D.va.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't mess with Ma McCree.

“Goddamn,” Jesse mutters, sinking into a rocking chair and scrubbing his face with his hands. He stays like that for a moment, letting himself believe for just a bit that this day hasn’t happened at all. The creak of the floorboards and the gentle swish of the screen door opening ruin his little fantasy. Jesse stays where he is, doesn’t move a muscle, hopes whoever decided to come out and poke at him some more gets the idea and fucks right off.

“You were such a sweet, innocent child,” Hanzo tells him, voice quiet and sincere. There’s fondness lurking right under the seriousness of it; it had taken Jesse quite a while to learn to detect it, but it was there. His hat is lifted, a hand combing gently through his hair to skate a feather light touch from his left ear down his neck. Jesse can’t help the shudder it evokes and sighs, pushing his head up to catch a glimpse of the smile gracing Hanzo’s lips. He’ll be damned if the sight doesn’t set his pulse beating just a bit faster.

“Whaddya mean ‘was’,” Jesse smirks, straightening up and pulling Hanzo in close by his hips. “I still am a sweet lil’ thing.” Hanzo rolls his eyes but lets Jesse pull him close, but does not fall to straddle his lap like the cowboy wants.

“Emphasis on the innocent part.” It’s his turn to smirk now as Jesse rolls his eyes.

“You wound me, darlin’.” Hanzo moves back, edging toward the porch door.

“Your mother asked me to let you know dessert will be served soon.” Jesse can’t help another sigh; he didn’t want to face everyone just yet but at the same time… dessert wasn’t something he ever missed. His waistline was testament to that.

“Well, fine, guess I’ll come back in,” Jesse sighs, pushing up from the rocker and following Hanzo back into the house. Back in the living room the screen is black, no more videos playing, though the photo albums are still scattered across the coffee table. Hana and Lucio are still giggling at the pictures as Jesse leans over the couch to see which ones they were looking at now.

“You made such a pretty girl Jesse,” Hana giggles and she and Lucio flip through pages of photos with a little Jesse in dresses and sloppy make-up beaming at the camera with his sisters. Hanzo peeks over his shoulder to get a look, chuckling quietly at the photos.

“Hey, now, you try and grow up with three older sisters and see if they didn’t try an’ make you play dress up with ‘em,” he growls at Hanzo.

“Also,” Jesse steps back and smirks at the three of three of them, “I was prettier than them in those dresses anyways.”

 Hanzo gives him a calculating look that makes Jesse feel like he might regret that last comment, which Hana and Lucio break into a new fit of giggles. Jesse is saved from further humiliation as Reinhardt enters carrying a tray of bowls, Annabelle following with napkins and a handful of spoons. There’s a flurry of activity as the photo albums are gathered and put back on the bookshelves and the bowls are handed out to everyone.  
“It’s nothing fancy unfortunately, but it was quick to whip up,” Annabelle laments as everyone digs into the bowls of peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream.

“Doesn’t matter, still delicious,” Jesse mumbles around a mouthful, a chorus of ‘mmhms’ coming from the rest of the group.

Everyone was about halfway through their bowl when they notice a sound from outside and they all turn to look toward the front door.

“Hovertruck,” Hanzo says.

“Were you expecting more visitors,” Winston asks Annabelle, who set aside her bowl and shook her head. She goes to the window beside the front door, pulling pack the curtain a smidge to peek outside. She quickly drops the curtain to fall back in place, turning on her heel and heading across the room with a stern look on her face.

“Uh, ma, what’s goin’ on,” Jesse asks as she reaches up and pulls down the old shotgun hung above the fireplace. She checks it over quickly and loads three shells from the decorative box on the mantle.

“Oh, nothing for you to worry about. Ya’ll enjoy your dessert I’ll be back in a jiffy,” she says, but Jesse can tell her cheerful tone is forced. She’s outside, with the door firmly shut behind her, before anyone can move.

“Should we go help her,” Mei asks, looking worried.

“Nah. Ma can take care of herself. Don’t let the sweet old lady act fool you otherwise,” Jesse shrugs, setting his bowl aside to go peek through the window at what was happening. Next thing he knows each window has a group around it, everyone trying to watch as discreetly as possible.

Outside, there’s a blue, newer model hovertruck parked in the driveway. Two men in cowboy hats are standing beside it, their blue jeans and plaid shirts making Jesse at first think they were nearby farmers, but upon closer inspection he can tell the shirts were ironed and looked too new to be the well-worn kind the working folk wore. Something about them seemed off.

“Good afternoon Annabelle,” the one on the right, in blue plaid, calls out.

“That’s Mrs. McCree to you,” Annabelle barks, standing in the driveway about ten yards away from the men and their truck. Her back is straight and feet planted apart, shotgun held loosely in front of her but ready to be brought up at a moment’s notice.

“Now, now, there’s no need for any hostilities, we’re just here to talk,” the other man, in red plaid, soothes, but Annabelle does not move an inch.

“I thought I told you two gentlemen not to step foot on my property ever again,” Annabelle growls.

“Well, yes ma’am, but we’re just tryin’ to help you out,” Blue Plaid says, and Red Plaid nods.

“We know how expensive these farms are nowadays,” Red Plaid begins, but Annabelle cuts him off.

“You’ve got ten seconds to get back in your truck and get the hell outta here,” she warns. The men exchange a look before Red Plaid steps closer.

“Look, we know you’re probably barely able to make ends meet right now, and with the way market prices are dropping lately you’ll be makin’ less off each harvest. Our employer is willing to make a very good deal for your land, enough you can retire somewhere nice out in the city.”

“One, two, three, four, five,” Annabelle counts, loudly, then pumps a round into the chamber.

“A lot of your neighbors have taken our generous offer, as I’m sure you’ve noticed lately. It’s in your best interest to take it as well.” Red Plaid’s face begins to turn red as he gets angry that Annabelle isn’t listening to him. Blue Plaid tries to gently get his companion’s attention, shaking his head slightly.

“Six, seven, eight, nine.”

“Look, woman, can’t you listen to reason? You’ve got grandkids, we hear, and don’t you want to be able to dote on them? Buy them things, help pay for their college? You can’t do none of that with your farm in this economy anymore!”

“Ten,” Annabelle hisses, and suddenly the shotgun is at her shoulder and she sights down the barrel. Before either man can move she pulls the trigger and the weapon booms, sending the right-side rearview mirror on the truck flying into the air. Another round is pumped into the chamber and the two men shout and scurry to get inside the vehicle. The next shot takes out the right headlight as the engine roars to life, the antigravity unit whining loudly as they floor the gas without giving it time to warm up properly. Blue Plaid is driving, sends them barreling backwards before slamming the steering wheel to the side to make the front of the truck whip around to face the road.

“And don’t you come back ever again,” Annabelle shouts after the fleeing truck, nods to herself and walks back to the house. Everyone is still gathered around the windows when she enters, and watches her quietly as she puts the gun back on its rack above the mantle.

“Anyone want seconds,” she asks brightly.

“Actually,” Winston clears his throat, tries to shuffle away from the window. “We should probably be going.”

“Oh, don’t let those men bother you. They won’t be calling the sheriff or nothin’, I was in my right to defend my home from trespassers,” Annabelle soothes as she begins gathering empty bowls.

“It’s not that, really. Just, _technically_ , Overwatch is still an illegal operation under the Petras Act, and I don’t want them remembering seeing our dropship on your lawn. Then they might come up with something to give you more trouble with,” he explains, adjusting the glasses on his face nervously.

“Plus, Jesse does still have that bounty on his head. Can’t let anyone get wind he’s been here,” Tracer adds. Annabelle gives Jesse a sharp look.

“Hey, now, that bounty ain’t fair, I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve it. Politicians were just pissed they didn’t get to throw me in jail after what happened in Geneva,” Jesse pouts.

“Well, when you put it that way it does make sense. I’ll just go pack ya’ll up some leftovers for the flight home,” Annabelle amends. Winston opens his mouth to decline, but Jesse shakes his head quickly at him, miming for him to stop. Winston gives him a curious look, but takes the advice.

“Um, sure, that’d be nice. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

“It was lovely meeting you all,” Annabelle says as she helps secure a Tupperware-filled bag in the dropship. She gets a chorus of thanks and cheers from the Overwatch crew, including hugs from Hana and Lucio.

“Now, you have a safe trip back,” she tells Jesse, giving him a tight hug.

“Thanks ma, we will. You stay safe and let me know if you need anything,” Jesse mumbles into her hair. They step apart and Annabelle pulls Hanzo into another hug before he can slip into the ship without her noticing.

“It was such a pleasure to meet you, Hanzo. I’m so glad Jesse’s found such a lovely boyfriend! You make sure he stays outta trouble, you hear?” Hanzo huffs a laugh and nods before climbing the ramp into the ship. Annabelle stands back as the ramp is closing, holds her hands up around her mouth to yell over the sound of the engine.

“I’ll be expecting you both for Thanksgiving!”

The ramp closes and Annabelle retreats to the porch as Tracer throttles the engine and lifts off in a slow glide. Inside, Hanzo looks over at Jesse to see him with his face in his hands.

“Not Thanksgiving…” Jesse groans, and Hanzo cannot help but laugh at him.

“What is wrong with this, thanks giving,” he asks, the word odd on his tongue.

“Oh, you’ll see,” Jesse sighs, slumping into his seat. “You’ll see…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was a fun things to write, and here feels like a good place to end this particular story. But, have no worries, there's still more Ma McCree to come! Thank you all for the comments and kudos!
> 
> As always, I'm [Asalade](http://asalade.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you'd like to drop by! (note: I reblog as much NSFW shit as I can, so be warned.)

**Author's Note:**

> I will say this fandom is just lovely, you guys are so nice!


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